TITLE: On Mercury Prelude: Clean Shaven
AUTHOR: euphoria1287
FANDOM: Pale September
SUMMARY: Love triangles at the Critics’ Choice Awards.
DISCLAIMER: Language, sexual themes
NOTES: Based on, if not something from the upcoming first-person Fiona Apple epic On Mercury, to be written at Pale September’s end (It’s quite an original idea, muahaha). This fic is modern day and features a mix of real and fictional people.



I’m such a bitch.

He had said this much and stormed out of the room, and really, I didn’t want to know what it was about this time. There was no fight, no issue. I had been sitting in the bathroom, brushing sand out of the dog’s spotted coat, for she had had a romp this morning on the beach and had been taken down by an unexpected and sudden wave. It had been amusing for two minutes or so, but now the dog and I were paying the price for it. A sad, forlorn look in her eyes, Paisley looked at me, begging soundlessly for me to put the brush down and let her out of the bathtub, its marble surface now gritted with sand particles. Giving the dog a break meant she would track sand throughout the house, which sounded like an utter headache. Speaking of headaches , I probably should have found out what Evan was upset about, but I knew he’d be back soon. Most couples knew when they were fighting; there’d be anger, yelling, arguing, maybe someone storming off, slamming a door, hanging up a call, storming out of the house.

Evan McCullough though was…different. It hadn’t taken more than a week of choppy togetherness to realize he was fucked in the head, but hey, aren’t we all? A second week had revealed that he was really fucked in the head, but that’s some people for you. I should have gotten out then, before I became a ‘fixture’ in his life. He always says that, that I’m his fixture. I’ve been called a lot more flattering and a lot worse things before, so thanks, I guess. He had said before that he didn’t really have anyone else in his life who was a quote-unquote, fixture, and that I couldn’t leave. I did try before though. The second step had been offering him help; I knew enough good therapists for his entire extended family if he wanted to trace the lineage of his problems back, but he constantly refused. That fight had been a singular one, and I no longer asked him to go to a doctor and find out what the hell was wrong with him. All I knew though was that he’d be back any minute now, especially since we hadn’t really fought over anything. Apparently I hadn’t been listening to what he was saying because I was busy brushing the sand out of the dog’s coat and he got pissed and stormed off.

Just then, I heard the slightest creak on the hinges of the bathroom door, heard the soft plodding of bare feet against cold tiled marble. He was back. Like I said, I’m his ‘fixture’, remember?

“Come to the awards show with me tonight,” he requested, stepping in front of the tub.

Paisley’s tail wagged quickly and kicked up sand, which felt like a fairy dust against the tub’s surface.

I looked up at Evan, staring him in the face, silently encouraging him to continue, but he didn’t take the hint. Sighing heavily as I ran the brush down the curved, smooth surface of Paisley’s back, I asked, “What awards show?”

Evan shrugged, almost nonchalantly. “The Critics’ Choice Awards.”

I suppose now’s a good time to mention that Evan is a director. His eight films, and I’ve seen them all numerous times (not necessarily by choice either), are all critically acclaimed for their supposed ‘unique artistic vision’, aka Evan’s heavy drug use/his bipolar disorder, but hey, I’m not going to say how the magic trick is done just because I know it. But anyway, his new film, The Only, must have been nominated for some award. It was pretty good…I had seen it one and a half times, and I didn’t understand it at all. At first I was accused of outwardly hating it, which wasn’t at all the case, and for a week Evan considered dropping the whole finished project just because he thought that I hated it. Being his fixture is such a joy. Apparently though, like he always did, he got over his deep-rooted belief that I despised his work if he was inviting me out. Even so though, he didn’t sound overly excited about what must have been a prestigious honor to even be nominated. However, Evan rarely got excited about anything, and when he did it was about everything. He wasn’t in one of those moods now; instead he doubted everything he did, and he expected me to be a constant source of reassurance telling him his latest creative project wasn’t shit. That meant choosing my words very carefully.

“When is it?”

He frowned at me; I saw him do it out of the corner of my eye. I think he was frowning because I was brushing Paisley still and not giving him my full attention, but with Evan I never knew.

“It’s tonight,” he said, his frown deepening so much I thought the rounded lines around his soft lips would permanently etch themselves into his face. “It’s last minute, so you can say no….”

I could, but there’d be hell to pay. I didn’t want a fight, verbal or physical. “I…I don’t have anything to wear….”

Anger tinged his features, arching his eyebrows inward, changing the stature of his delicate lips to an embittered scowl. I knew I had said the wrong thing, but I risked it, still brushing the dog, who whimpered now.

“You have plenty of things to wear. Just throw on some party dress or something. You’ll look fine,” Evan insisted.

He had no idea what he was saying, and I think we both knew that. “This is a big event, Evan. I can’t just go in some cocktail dress or something. I’d look awful and make you look bad. You don’t want that. I really don’t want to mess things up, so maybe you should go it alone.”

He pounded a violent, sudden fist against the white tiled wall then, startling me and the dog. I heard the sad sound of dog nails skittering against the tub’s surface and pet Paisley reassuringly though my own heart had launched into overdrive. Damn him, really.

“Oh, I get it. You don’t like the movie, is that it, Fiona? You never have, and now you’re just screaming that to me loud and clear by not going with me tonight. All for what? Because you don’t have something to fucking wear? Who gives a shit what you wear! This is MY night!!!”

And there we go. That was Evan McCullough in a nutshell. Paisley recoiled, sitting down against the light sandy coating of the bathtub. I turned away from him completely, which he would view as defiance and rightfully so. I didn’t want the situation to escalate though. If this had been the first time he had blown up at me like this, I probably would have been cowering in the corner like Paisley was trying to do now, but I held her back with a light tug to the collar. The first time had been about something so mundane I can’t even recall it now. I remember the feelings though, my heart in my throat, my entire body shaking in fear. Would he strike out at me like he had before? Would he just scream? That first time he had gotten in my face, breathed down my throat, stared me in the eyes until he believed he instilled the fear of God in me and then turned and walked away. This afternoon I was expecting a similar spectacle. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore; sadly the dog was still very skittish, and it all had to do with Evan.

Sighing, I turned back to him, noting that he was still practically shaking in his anger, letting it consume him that much.

“Evan, I…I know it’s your night. I’ve been aware of that the whole time,” I said slowly, careful to be calm, to keep my voice even, despite that it threatened to waver. “I want you to have fun. If that means I have to come along with you, then I will.”

Evan smiled, but still, his brows were furrowed and he didn’t look necessarily happy. “Good…Good. You can wear that sexy black dress you wore the last time we went to dinner.”

I wanted to say that it wasn’t fancy enough, that it wasn’t going to work amongst all of the other well-dressed celebrity actresses who would be there tonight, but I didn’t. “Okay,” I replied, defeated. “I’ll dig it out of the closet.”



Looking at my reflection in the mirror, the clingy black dress that glued itself to my small curves was just not right. It wasn’t fancy enough, even with the knitted black shawl I had slung over my shoulders or the expensive black heels on that were already squashing my toes together. I hoped this award show involved some sitting, a lot of sitting, but knowing how they went, I didn’t expect it to. Taking a breath, I turned to get a profile view in the long, full-length mirror, and still I wasn’t pleased. If I had known I had to squeeze into a tight little dress and be amongst an elite Hollywood crowd I would have skipped a few meals for a few days. As it was though, I guessed I looked alright, but not ‘going to an awards show’ alright, just ‘going out of the house’ alright. Really, I would have loved to have thrown something baggy on, something with dark colors, and curled up tonight on the couch with Paisley and watch TV. I didn’t really want to go mingle with a bunch of Hollywood movie people, but instead I headed over to my vanity mirror and applied a light layer of foundation and some black eye shadow to neutralize my attire.

Evan peeked into the room every now and then, glancing in on me to make sure I was effectively getting ready, when all I wanted to do was fling myself on the bed and cry. He somehow wound up with an expensive designer suit, one that had been custom made and tailored months in advance. Son of a bitch. I wanted to call him out on it, wanted to say something, but I held my tongue. This was his night afterall, and I wasn’t to ruin it. He had said that enough in his nervous, angry chatter since the bathroom incident, and I didn’t doubt him. I would fade into the background, in my fantastic if not Hollywood-event inappropriate black dress, straying from pictures and staying quiet. Oh god, I hope there weren’t pictures, but I knew there would be. Evan stepped up to me then, puncturing my racing thoughts with one gaze. He looked good, his sandy blonde hair slicked back and gooey with some sort of gel, his hardened blue gems of eyes shining like the diamonds they were. He wore a crisp black tux with a white button down ruffled shirt underneath and spotless black leather loafers. He finalized the chic outfit with a blue bowtie, which he tugged on incessantly now, either out of a compulsive need to perfect his appearance or out of nervousness, or perhaps even a bit of both. I realized then I was wringing my hands without even knowing it, probably out of the sheer unpredictability of Evan’s actions now that he had stepped into the room. There was never a dull day here.

“You ready to go?” he asked, a sense of bravado ringing in his voice, the suave scent of men’s cologne wafting through the stale air.

I wanted to say no, but airing my insecurities out to dry was unattractive. “Sure,” I said quickly, before I had a single second more to change my mind.

I turned from the mirror, primping my hair one more time, which was loosely curled and looked okay, I guess, and saw that Evan was frowning. Again. What now?

“What’s wrong?” I found myself asking, though honestly, I didn’t want to know. The last thing I wanted was a fight right before we had to leave, something that would color the evening in violent dark shades, in angry reds.

His eyes averted to the floor, perhaps to those fancy shoes of his, and he shrugged, a subtle, almost childlike rise and fall of the shoulders. “You really don’t want to go. Maybe I should just go by myself.”

Biting back the urge to roll my eyes, I sighed, frankly annoyed with having to constantly express my desire to attend this event at his side tonight. It had only been what, six hours since he asked me, and I had heard this a dozen and a half times by now. Still, we were almost out the door, and it would probably only take one more time…

“I do want to go, Evan. You know that. Now come on, you don’t want to be late, do you?” I was hoping that changing the subject would allow him to forget our constant exchange about just how badly I wanted in on tonight’s awards show, which wasn’t badly at all, for the record.

He stood there for a second and shook himself out of his own sudden stupor, offering his hand to me, which was weird and left me off guard Oh, he was going to be a gentlemen now that we were going out in public and there would be cameras around. I’d play along, I guess. The benefit though was there was a limo, and well, I hadn’t been in a limo in a few years. I suppose that’s what happens when you sit on your ass and don’t make music like the record companies expect you to, but as I climbed into the cushy and expensive vehicle, I realized I didn’t miss any of this, the glitz, the glamour. However, that glazed, pleased look in Evan’s eyes told me not to comment, that he was loving all of this, though he supposedly had done it half a million times, being in the directing business for fifteen years now. He crept up beside me and snaked an arm around my waist, which slowly traced up the small of my back and then higher, in which point I slid away from him, just an inch or so, enough for him to get the hint. He did, and he didn’t look pleased, and instead tried to zero in on me again. You see, there was a time when I would indulge this sort of behavior, but Evan’s hit or miss libido never correlated with mine, so trying to match up a time when it was good for us both was like playing tic-tack-toe where most often no one won.

Tonight, the x’s and o’s were conflicting, as almost always. I was nervous enough about tonight, and feeling underdressed and generally unprepared certainly didn’t help, let alone did it make me feel horny. Maybe the rule for the evening was supposed to be that whatever Evan wanted he got, but he was not getting limo sex; I wasn’t giving in on that one. For that reason, it turned out to be a long, tense ride to the awards show. Emphasis on long too, which was probably why Evan was trying so hard to get laid. It must have taken at least an hour, hour and a half. All that wasted time on driving that I could have spent getting ready and looking halfway decent, but then again, that sounded awfully conceited, so scratch that. All that wasted time on driving and fending off sex left me a little more drained and irritable than I wanted to be for such an event, especially considering that within moments the flash bulbs of hundreds of cameras were going off, bathing the colorful sunset in heavenly white. I tried to smile and not squint, reaching a hand out for Evan though blinded. Eventually I found him, standing stock still and probably posing. These were going to be the most humiliating pictures of my career, I bet. Then again, who gave a shit? This wasn’t my night at all, and as a tuxedoed young man with a microphone stepped up to Evan and asked him about his nomination for tonight, that became glaringly apparent.

The limelight though, was rather beauteous. I was content just standing sort of behind Evan, not exactly at his side, to field off questions. Before I knew it though, before that thought pushed its way to the surface, I felt him tug on my arm and as he pulled me closer a mic was shoved in my face, held out by this dopey looking reporter guy, all Hollywood trash, no class at all. I feigned a smile.

“And who’s this beauty you have with you tonight?” he asked in just as annoying a voice as his face was to look at.

Evan smiled plastically; this was all such a charade. “This is my gorgeous girlfriend, the lovely Fiona Apple.”

I wanted to gag. “Hi,” I said to appease the interviewer, who would not get that damn mic out of my face.

I was expecting a question about the film, what I thought of it, but luckily those were all directed towards Evan. Off the hook at last. I don’t know why, and I really shouldn’t have, but while he was rambling incomprehensibly about the movie’s bizarre plot, I stepped off and checked out the event. Alright, it didn’t take a shrink to figure out why I walked away, because Evan had been breathing down my throat all day and I had enough of it. Let someone else deal with his manic episodes for even an hour and I’d be alright. Turning from him with a self-satisfied smile on my face, sure that the camera flashes would be enough to keep him from getting on my trail for at least twenty blissful minutes or so, I weaved my way through faceless celebrities I didn’t know by name, accidentally bumping into…someone. He was a rather older man, his wild hair salt and pepper, and he looked sort of scruffy too. He was dressed nicely, but so was everyone else in this joint.

“Do I know you?” he asked me.

Wow, what a clever pickup line. My knees were buckling. “Um…I don’t think so...” Oh, this was awkward. Where was Evan?

He eyed me regardless, a thoughtful thumb posed on his chin. “Hmmm, okay. You seem familiar somehow. Anyway, I should introduce myself. I’m Sean Penn. I directed the film Into the Wild, which is up for nomination tonight.”

Name-dropping doesn’t work with me, because I don’t follow anything. I rarely watch television, don’t go out to the movies, nor do I listen to the radio. Pop culture often passed me by, and that was alright. I had no idea who this guy was, hadn’t ever heard of his movie, so he didn’t impress me much.

“Fiona Maggart,” I finally replied, unsure why I was giving him my name, “and I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

He laughed; it wasn’t just a line, though, I was serious. “Charming. Well, if you want, you can come sit with me and have dinner with a few of my friends.”

I glanced back in the direction of where I had left Evan, but he hadn’t found me yet. I guess he’d be dogging interviews for a while. “Sure,” I agreed without enthusiasm, lethargically following this Sean Penn fellow back to his table.

I had no idea what was on the menu tonight, but my body believed my heart to be, for it was in my throat. He might have hacked off his beard, but oh, I’d recognize him with or without it, those serene, ocean blue eyes, squinted in laughter, the graceful lines of age touching his face in just the right places, those soft, sensual lips, stretched in a luminous smile. Just as easily, I recognized the woman beside him, pretty and brunette, a little heavy on the nude shaded eye shadow, maybe hiding some crow’s feet there? Okay, that was petty. Whatever. In that moment I wanted to disappear, to melt, to at least turn and run, something that was possible and attainable, but it was too late. They had already seen me. Pretty model bitch scowled a bit, the bored stupid smile gone from her face.

Sean stepped up next to me then, putting an arm around me, which scared me since I’d forgotten all about him. Damn, another man to lose…

“Guys, this is my new date for the night-“

“Hi Eddie, Jill,” I interjected. “Somebody gave this guy a little too much alcohol,” I said, pointing to Sean. “I don’t even know this man, let alone am I his date.”

Sean turned to me, a look of surprise glimmering in his small, beady eyes. I’d rather turn around and get lost in an ocean of blue intensity, but no, no, no. He was here with his baby’s momma, and I guess…I don’t know. “What are you talking about? You just agreed to have dinner with me and-OH! You’re…you’re…”

“That’s right.” I spared him from saying it, spared anyone, mostly myself from remembering. Once upon a time, before he fucked me over for Alyssa, I had been Eddie’s girl, but never again.

“Oh shit! This is humiliating. So you all know each other?” I nodded. “I’m sorry! Didn’t you know about Eddie being involved in this movie?”

Don’t blame this on me, you fucker. “I often follow Eddie’s career. I sit on the Pearl Jam website all day and hit refresh until there’s news.”

Sean wasn’t sure what to make of my comment; his cheeks were flushed red, and he kept pulling on the collar of his black button-down shirt, which reminded me of Evan. He could come rescue me any fucking time now.

Eddie cleared his throat, shooting ice picks at Sean with an evil gaze. “Why don’t you both sit down.”

There was no questioning in his voice: he wasn’t asking us if we’d sit, he was telling us. Jill looked aghast; inwardly I was smiling. I decided to sit down, and Sean followed my lead. I picked up a stray menu and looked over it while trying to act cool, though inside I was cracking. What to do next? Should I say something? None of this food looked vegan or even remotely vegetarian. Where was Evan? Why did I agree to go to this stupid fucking shindig? What was Eddie going to do next? Was he looking at me? Oh god, he was looking at me. Why why why? Okay, just try to act nonchalant, look at the menu, scour it for a salad or something. Still, the tiny text just blurred. I could feel Eddie’s eyes burning a hole through the expensive leather-bound folder. Didn’t model bitch care that he was staring at his old flame of ten years? Perhaps she was checking out some of the big name actors that should have been swarming this place. I had yet to see any of them, but then again, I hadn’t brought my glasses with me either. I had noticed Eddie quickly enough though, but that was another story entirely.

Speaking of Eddie, if I wanted to eat or not stutter half a dozen times when ordering dinner, he needed to refocus his gaze. To assist him in that, I reached across the table and kicked him in the shin. Not hard, just a little love tap, enough to give him a hint to fuck off. Seconds later I felt him nudge my ankle. Okay, no, Eddie, we’re not playing fucking footsie, stop looking at me. I could have kicked him again, could have broken his leg with these heels, but I didn’t. If he wanted to play, we’d play. Slipping off one stiletto, I stretched my leg and settled my foot in his lap. I felt his eyes widen, but I just looked at my menu, no longer minding his gaze. Next to and across from me, Sean and Jill engaged in mandatory yet strange conversation to keep the silence from consuming us all. Waiting a moment, I wiggled my foot a little bit in his lap, against his now semi-hard erection. Peeking over my menu, I saw him squirm. This was too simple. I could tell he was just dying to remove my foot from his lap, yet at the same time he had no desire to, and really, he couldn’t. He had had his chance.

Sean asked him something then; Eddie only coughed in answer, moving his hands as though he might end our little game, but he didn’t, and so I kept rubbing against him. Jill looked over at her man worriedly but said nothing. In my purse, I felt my phone vibrate. I knew who it was, and for just a few dangerous minutes I had let the past consume me. I liked to live in the present though, and that’s just what I’d do. Slipping my stiletto back on, I pushed my chair back and mumbled some sort of apology, though I owed these people nothing.

I’m such a bitch.


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